


The Quiet

by Gayeld



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 16:27:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20951417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gayeld/pseuds/Gayeld
Summary: Hutch has never missed anything less.





	The Quiet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Keri T (Keri_1006)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keri_1006/gifts).

> First published in Venice Place Chronicles, Volume VIII
> 
> This is the last of the vingettes I wrote for Keri way back when (and the shortest of them all). I can't believe I wrote things that are so soft.

Hutch always loved the quiet. 

The long luxurious silences that he took for his own.

Late evenings, alone in his little house, when he had time to savor a book, immerse himself in the thoughts and philosophies of others.

Early mornings, when even the light is quiet, a soft golden glow as he runs along the beach, with only the rhythm of his own body to keep him company.

The silent end of a long, hectic day when he could return home and just be, unwind, untangle from all the mess and confusion of life.

Stolen moments that were his alone, never shared with anyone.

If anyone had told him he could come to hate the quiet with such a passion, he would have laughed at how little they knew about him.

He never would have believed that endless hours of silence could drive him to near madness.

He wouldn't have realized there would come a day when he'd miss noise and chaos.

He never dreamt that stillness could hurt so badly or wound so deeply.

Never prayed as hard as he did during those long silent nights with only the unsteady beat of a heart monitor and quiet swish of the respirator to keep him company.

Never wanted out of his own head so badly as did during that terrifying drive back to the hospital.

Never heard anything as beautiful as his own name, barely a whisper, breaking the unbearable silence

It amazes him how quickly he traded away the peace he'd thought meant so much to him.

Quiet morning runs given up for late, messy mornings filled with breakfast in bed, and sticky fingers stealing the last of his pancakes.

Instead of evenings spent wrapped in books and the thoughts of others, he has nights wrapped around Starsky, all thoughts driven from his head.

Quiet contemplation and silent reflection have been replaced with the sound of pots and pans clattering in the other room, songs belted loudly and off-key. Runs become races, races devolving into wrestling, and through it all there's light and noise and love.

Hutch has never missed anything less than the quiet.


End file.
